


In a year we all will be together, if the Fates allow

by leiascully



Series: A Thousand And One Nights [3]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex doesn't expect her mobile to suddenly buzz in her pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a year we all will be together, if the Fates allow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trialia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/gifts).



Alex sends out the usual round of "Happy Christmas!" texts, not really expecting any reply. She's stealing a moment to herself; after all that holiday cheer, she needed a breath of fresh air. She certainly doesn't expect her mobile to suddenly buzz in her pocket. She snatches it out and presses the button without even looking at the screen.

"Hello?" she says quietly, still hoping not to be discovered.

"Merry Christmas," Matt says in a warm voice that sends sweetness all through her. Oh, it's Christmas indeed, hearing him. She hadn't felt this way in a very long time, before the two of them started whatever it is that they've got, their one-day-at-a-time.

"Merry Christmas yourself," she says back.

She can nearly hear the smile in his voice. "I found a bit of mistletoe. If you've been nice, I'll save it for you."

"Wouldn't that haven been more appropriate if I'd been naughty?" she counters.

"Maybe I think it's nice that you've been naughty," he says. "It certainly benefited me, for one."

"Cheeky," she says.

"Yeah, but nobody's around," he says. "I got all selfish, had to have a moment to myself. And I'll bet you're escaping your family too, otherwise you wouldn't take my call."

"What are you now, Sherlock Holmes?" she asks, amused.

"I just think that you'd blush like a schoolgirl if you were talking to me in front of all your relations," he tells her. "You're quite good at the acting bit, but I'm not certain if even you could hold it together, Ms Kingston, thinking about what we've got up to lately."

She fans cold air at her face, which is indeed more than usually flushed. "You've certainly been naughty."

"I won't apologise," he says. "I don't regret a moment of it."

"No, neither do I," she says.

He's quiet for a moment. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, missing the caress of his voice. She wishes it were later in the day, so that she could fall asleep to the murmur of his voice. She wishes, just for a split second, that the whole situation were different, that she could look up and see him laughing across the room in a hideous Christmas-themed jumper and a paper hat, that she could fall asleep in the circle of his arms after a long and satisfying day full of relatives and Christmas pudding.

"Don't get me wrong," he says suddenly. "I do enjoy the whole family togetherness business, but I do miss you a bit."

Her heart catches and so does her breath. It isn't at all fair that he should have such an effect on her, except that she suspects that he feels rather the same way about her, the both of them intimidated as all hell by the whole business, but neither of them willing to give up something so lovely and so rare.

"I miss you a bit as well," she confides. "Only a very little bit, obviously."

"Oh, obviously," he says in a breezy voice. "Likewise. Barely thought of you. Every other minute, maximum."

"I'm astounded you even bothered to call me, at that rate," she teases.

"It was a tough choice," Matt tells her.

"We are utterly, completely ridiculous," she says.

"We are," he agrees. "But I had to earn tomorrow, after all."

"Ah," she says. "There we are. It had to be something, didn't it? Now that you mention it, I was going to give you the next few days for Christmas."

"Now that's generous," he says. "I expected to have to earn them back retroactively."

"As lovely as I'm sure that would have been," she muses, "this week is my gift to you. Shall I stick a ribbon on your calendar?"

"Every day is your gift to me," he says quietly.

"Oh, Matt," she says, helplessly, hopelessly in love. She wants to tell him that she feels the same, that he has given her back some of her youth, that she is happy beyond her hoping. But all she can do is lean against the balcony, her eyes prickling. At least when she goes in, she can blame it on the wind instead of the swell of feeling welling up in her. She still hasn't told anyone; she rather likes keeping him all to herself. They'll be in the public eye soon enough if they keep carrying on - someone's bound to notice that the two of them are happier than any two colleagues ought to be in each other's company. For now she'll keep their secret wrapped warmly around her like a scarf against the cold.

"I know," he says, "too much. And I really ought to be getting back to everyone. I suspect there may be wassailing involved very soon."

"Yes," she says with a sigh. "I'm sure someone is wondering where I am, and I heard there was something on telly tonight I shouldn't miss."

"I don't know about that," he says, amused. "I'd stick to caroling, eating myself sick, maybe drinking too much. Christmas specials are always soppy and awful."

"I happen to fancy one of the actors," she informs him, "so it might not be too unbearable."

"If that's how you want to spend your evening," he says, sounding dubious.

"I heard he's even nicer in person," she teases, "but if the screen is as close as I can get for now, I'll take it."

"Not much longer," he says. "It's been too long."

"Speaking of which, I really ought to be getting back," she says. "They'll be missing me."

"I sympathise," he tells her.

"We're not going to play the game of no-you-hang-up, are we?" she asks.

"God, I hope not," he says. "I've outgrown that one."

"Then I'll say one last merry Christmas, my love, and take my leave," she tells him.

"Merry Christmas, Alex," he says softly, and she presses the button to end the call before they can linger over their goodbyes. She smiles to herself and tucks her mobile away again. Tidings of comfort and joy indeed, she thinks, and opens the door on a scene of tinsel and holly and eager voices calling her name.


End file.
